Peripheral Vision
by smiles1777
Summary: Tsuna/Haru. Tsuna doesn’t notice Haru when they first meet but she is a persistent element of his world.


**Title:** Peripheral Vision

**Summary:** Tsuna doesn't notice Haru when they first meet.

Written for khrfest at LJ. Prompt was Tsuna/Haru - persistence; "satisfy undisclosed desires." Beta'd by the very excellent and wonderful alcyonev at LJ

* * *

He doesn't notice her when they first meet. Of course he sees her (his eyes cannot miss the strange girl in conspicuous disguise with the dark brown hair secured in a ponytail and a handkerchief tied under her nose). He hears her (shouts of "hahi" and "desu" gather and explode in his ears). But he cannot be bothered to pay her any special attention.

He has enough stress these days, with a two-year-old pointing a gun at his head every five minutes, a half-Japanese transfer student shadowing his every step, and the star baseball player from his school following him into danger he really wished he wasn't responsible for. The last thing he needs is a crazy girl with a loud voice and no sense of subtlety to attach herself to his life.

So he doesn't notice her when they first meet, and instead focuses on a way to return to his no-good life.

* * *

It isn't that he accepts her into his family (which has exploded exponentially in size in the recent months). It is that Haru desires to be part of his family and it suddenly becomes fact. She flows so seamlessly into his world that he cannot distinguish when exactly she started to show up at his house and fold his laundry or play with the kids (or when exactly "the kids" became part of his life, for that matter).

He still doesn't notice her. She's a permanent feature of his life, accepted and acknowledged but rarely thought of. Like the desk in his room or the fence around his yard, she completes the atmosphere he never cares to concern himself with.

* * *

Sometimes he wishes she would stop showing up at his school (one of these days, Hibari really _is_ going to bite them all to death). But she just laughs and settles down next to Kyoko and Hana and he wonders if she always converts what she wants into what she has.

* * *

They are ten years in the future (nine years and ten months, technically) and she has settled even further into his world. He wakes up every morning to a breakfast provided by Haru and Kyoko (who never loses her radiance, even in this dark era), the comforting regularity of it enough to soothe his concerns about his absent mother.

He smiles at Kyoko a little brighter than at Haru in thanks and doesn't catch the flicker in Haru's eyes (there are many things he doesn't catch about her – how she holds her breath to keep from crying at night or how she sings a silly song in her head when she feels the laundry will never end).

The stress and responsibility of this era take a toll on him, and he loses his temper in front of Haru and Lambo. There's a dull throbbing in his chest when he snaps at her that he recognizes as guilt.

He's surprised to find her still upset over the incident days later. Haru is always cheerful and resilient, and suddenly she doesn't fit into the mold he created for her in his mind. He struggles to apologize, but instead falls down a flight of stairs and somehow Haru forgives him anyway (after he's roped into a trip to an amusement park when they return to ten years before). Haru is back to her regular cheerful self, but Tsuna still feels a strange irritation in his chest. He rubs it with the edge of his palm before heading back to training.

* * *

High school isn't much different from middle school. Tsuna still struggles to pass each course, Gokudera still manages to blow up the building every week, and Reborn still pops out of random corridors (though somehow he has even _more_ hiding places now). Tsuna settles into the familiarity of it; his wails of protest are more out of habit than actual reluctance.

Haru's schedule allows for her to join them at lunch on Thursdays, an appointment which she faithfully keeps week after week. He knows enough to not bring a lunch as Haru always prepares a bento for him (filled with love and omelettes and lots of vegetables because Tsuna-san is a man and needs strength to grow). Lunch is a noisy affair, with bonus guests Lambo and I-pin who sneak out of their elementary school to join in the fun.

One day he realizes he looks forward to Thursdays. He's tapping his chopsticks against his bento box, watching Haru play with Lambo's hair and Gokudera scowl while Ryohei and Yamamoto talk about some sports event. They're loud and chaotic and he swears they're all _really_ going to die by Hibari's hands one of these days, but he cannot think of a happier time.

"Does Tsuna-san like his lunch today?" Haru interrupts his thoughts.

He jerks his attention back to the girl beside him, her brown eyes large with anticipation and fingers busy over a now-sleeping Lambo's back. His eyes curve slightly and he allows his feelings to display in a brilliant smile. "Un, it's delicious."

He watches in amazement as Haru's face becomes red and her mouth drops open. She buries her face in her hands and squirms, muttering something about how unfair he is and how he sparkles and floats. He quirks his mouth in confusion and pokes her with his finger, trying to coax her out again. She lowers her hands slowly and pouts at him cutely, her hair in slight disarray from her actions. Their bodies lean towards each other and he can't recall the last time he was in such close proximity to her.

"Hmm, Lambo-san wants grapes…" The small cow-child yawns in his sleep and snuggles closer into Haru, drawing her attention back down to him.

Tsuna quickly refocuses on his bento, chopsticks picking up an irregular rhythm. His chest hurts again and now it seems his breathing is affected, too.

* * *

"What does Tsuna-san like most about Haru?"

Tsuna remains quiet for a moment before shifting slightly and blinking his eyes open to find Haru's face mere inches from his. He purses his lips while he tries to focus his eyes and figure out why, exactly, Haru is sitting beside him with her chin resting on his bed at – he glances at his clock – six in the morning.

"Huh?" he manages to croak out as an answer, still blinking rapidly. He's too tired and confused to be alarmed at her presence.

"What does Tsuna-san like most about Haru?" she repeats, slower this time. From what he can see and process, her eyes are dark and serious. He has a sinking feeling that there is something behind her question, something more serious than her usual chatter, but he's tired and just wants to roll over and sleep again.

"Dunno," he murmurs, hoping the impromptu conversation has come to an end and snuggles back into his pillow.

There is only silence and the deepening of his breathing. He assumes she left or perhaps this has all been some inane dream from the start.

"What does Tsuna-san like best about Gokudera-kun?"

He groans and shifts his face back in her direction, but refuses to open his heavy eyelids. "His dedication."

"What about Yamamoto-kun?"

"Hmm?" He's drifting back to sleep again.

"What does Tsuna-san like most about Yamamoto-kun?"

He exhales deeply. "His optimism."

"Lambo-chan?"

He lets out a short breath that could be taken as a laugh. "His energy."

Haru pauses momentarily. He can feel her lean towards him slightly. "Kyoko-chan?"

A dreamy twist of his lips settles automatically before he answers. "Her smile."

"Haru?"

If he was just the slightest bit more awake, he would hear the anticipation and trepidation in her voice, how it quivers and dips with voiced emotion too raw to form words. If he focused his energy just the slightest bit more, he would understand the obscurity of the situation, he would know Haru is on the edge of a decision and came to him for guidance. But he is tired and she is the atmosphere that he never notices. He resolves to analyze the situation later, when he is awake and finally ready to understand her.

He shifts again, face snuggling almost completely into the pillow now. "Her determination," he finally sighs out before drifting back to unconsciousness.

She is not there in the morning. He doesn't see her until the afternoon and chaos has been fully instated. She's back to smiling and laughing and chasing Lambo and I-pin and Fuuta around.

He's beginning to discover that there never is a perfect time to start understanding her.

* * *

Graduation comes and goes quickly. Tsuna is too concerned over a new enemy to fully comprehend it. Not that it really matters, nothing changes. His home still houses a majority of people who do not share his surname, Reborn is still the most terrifying and strangely effective tutor in the world, and all his friends are enrolled in the same university for the fall semester that is fast approaching.

He doesn't realize at first that Haru's plans are vastly different.

Haru has always been slightly apart from them for years now, attending a different school and sitting on the edge between family member and general acquaintance. She is close enough to share his history, but far enough to be on the peripherals of his vision (where the small changes and variations of hues and shades are blurred and blended until he thinks they've always been what they are at present).

She's been invited to a two-year design program in Paris.

She has accepted.

* * *

She leaves for Paris on a sunny day in late August amidst teary goodbyes and promises of phone calls everyday. He hasn't had a chance to comprehend the space she'll leave behind as she goes, let alone say goodbye.

* * *

It takes Lambo three days to come bursting into Tsuna's room, eyes puffy and red from tears and snot dripping profusely from his nose, begging Tsuna to bring Haru back. He explains the impossibility of his request to the child as patiently as he can muster with his pant leg growing wetter by the second where Lambo's face is buried. He manages to soothe Lambo with a handful of candies he keeps in his desk for emergencies, a promise of a trip to the ice cream parlor, and a phone call to Haru.

He calls Haru and hands to phone to Lambo, but within five minutes, the phone is handed back to him and Lambo wanders off to play with I-pin. (It will never cease to amaze him how short Lambo's attention span is.) They're awkward for the first few minutes, both unused to extended phone conversations. He feels at a disadvantage now that he can't see her face and read her expressions as a guide. They struggle through it until they hit a comfortable pace.

He's smiling when he finally places the receiver back into its cradle. He rubs the ache in his muscles where the phone had rested between his shoulder and ear, his neck stiff from the angle he had tilted it. He stays like that for a while, absorbing the quiet of his room (a rarity in past days that is becoming more prevalent recently). A contrast of the still silence and Haru's chatter still echoing in his head emerges, a strange melody of past and present, of nostalgia and anticipation. The sun is low and sinking fast into dusk, but his room seems brighter than it did before. A happy pressure in his chest tickles his breath out into laughter.

* * *

She starts sending him articles of clothing and messy sketches of outfits she's thought up in her mind. Small notes are attached to instruct him to their purpose ("I made this for Tsuna-san" or "Only wear this with brown slacks", and even the occasional winking emoticon to guide him). He furrows his brow every time her little packages arrive. She is studying women's fashion, yet she takes time and energy and resources to make men's clothing for him, thousands of kilometres away and still concerned over him.

He doesn't know much about fashion, but he takes a leap of faith and wears whatever she sends. (It couldn't be any stranger than Ryohei's track suits or the ten different belts Gokudera wears at once.) He swears he can see and feel and sometimes even hear a little bit of Haru in the clothes she outfits him in.

He thinks he might miss her just the slightest bit.

* * *

Disappointment is swift and heavy (and highly unexpected) when he finds out Haru's program is year-round, with no summer holidays.

When Reborn suggests (orders by gunpoint) an internship at the Vongola headquarters for the summer, Tsuna readily agrees. He ignores the knowing smirk from his tutor and instead focuses on packing and calming an all-too-excited Lambo (and strangely, an all-too-excited Gokudera) down.

He reasons that he has finally accepted his place in the Vongola, hence his quick assent to a trip he would have fought tooth-and-nail to avoid years back. He pretends his first thought wasn't that Italy is leagues closer to Paris than Japan.

* * *

He isn't in Italy for two weeks before he finds himself in Paris, hands thrumming an erratic, nervous beat against the steering wheel of a car far too expensive for him to drive (whatever possessed him to rent a sports car, he will never know). Haru shrieks into the phone when he tells her he's in Paris and he holds the device gingerly away from his ear.

He cannot help but smile when he hears the rapid _click-click-click_ of her heels racing down the street to his car. He stops breathing for a moment as he tries to decide if Paris made her mature or if she's always been that beautiful. She's let her hair out of her usual ponytail and cut it into a bob that frames her face prettily. Her body is all sleek lines and soft curves. He follows a trail from her slender neck and hint of a collarbone behind the bunches of her pink blouse, to the gentle swell of her breasts. Her waist tapers and cinches, the flair of her white skirt flowing in the breeze dances on her smooth thigh.

He realizes he's been staring and unresponsive a bit too long. She's frowning at him and pokes his arm resting on the edge of his rolled-down window. "Tsuna-san?"

He clears his throat and wills the flush to leave his cheeks, embarrassment and awkward feelings racing through his veins. "It's been a while, Haru," he manages to sputter out.

She nods, eyes twinkling and smile wide.

Silence descends on them. Tsuna tries desperately to find something to say, anything to keep her animated and sparkling, but he's still no-good Tsuna and he's never been good with girls. (He ignores the voice in his head – or maybe it's his heart, if hearts had voices – that asks him when Haru became a _girl_). Before he can dissolve into a puddle of failed attempts and self-loathing, Haru puffs out her cheeks, immediately destroying her feminine appearance. He laughs, she cocks her head to the side and they've invented a new rhythm to flow together again.

He takes her for a drive, the ground beneath them racing past at a speed he's terrified to control. He's sure he has never driven so fast, but her scent and aura and the image of her hair floating in the periphery of his eye overcomes his terror. He reads her laughter as a demand to go faster, her hands gripping her thighs as a plea to push them further into abandon. She's disposed her shoes haphazardly in the backseat, and her knees fold into her chest when he takes a corner a bit too sharply for her comfort. Her grin is wide and she can hardly breathe from all her giggles that cascade over and under them, warm and intoxicating. He swears they infect his blood and he takes the next turn sharply to hear her shout and see her white skirt inch up higher on her firm thigh. He spares a glance at her, pushed by an unknown desire to sharpen the blurred images in the corner of his eye. He's burned by her brilliance, at her slender hands trailing out the window to feel the wind they've created, the heaving of her chest as she struggles to find air, the quiver of her pale thighs as they tense to contain her fear and anticipation. He wants to see her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, he wants to hear her shrieks become louder and higher, he wants her knees to curl further into her chest. He wants to be the one to cause it.

He has a sinking feeling he should have left her as a haze that lingers at the dark edges of his mind.

* * *

He jerks off in the shower to images of pale thighs and a flowing white skirt bunched around a waist (_her_ waist). He refuses to look past the skirt on his fantasy woman, doesn't want to confirm the bright pink blouse and rich brown hair.

He wants to pretend she's still an untidy piece of furniture in his untidy world, just another piece in his puzzle.

He shudders with his release and slumps against the shower wall, once-scalding hot water now tempered and warm, soothing his red skin as he tries to calm his breathing.

Somehow she's come to define the atmosphere.

* * *

She plays dress-up with him over the course of his visit. Her eyes go hazy with delight as she adds a hat to or smoothes a pant leg on the outfit she picks for him. He tries to control his blood flow when her hands brush his neck as she adjusts his tie ("It has to be loose, but not _too_ loose," she informs him). He inhales her scent and exhales his own, wondering idly where the transition occurred, and if maybe a part of her lingers inside him. Perhaps that would explain why he lifts his hands and rests them on her hips, tugging her closer, closer, trying to meld their bodies together like their scents moments before. It's so natural, so easy that he doesn't register the hitch in her breath or the way she clutches her fingers into the stiff fabric of his vest.

His mouth is pressing against her ear. He reaches a hand from her hips to her hair, twisting and tangling, the soft silk of her locks like water between his fingers. They're both struggling for air, but neither moves to remedy the situation. His tongue makes vain movements to express words his mind cannot form. They come out as puffs of air, hot and moist and crawling down Haru's neck. She wavers under her own weight, her thighs quiver and tense.

Anticipation and fear. He smiles and sighs before ducking his head to kiss her cheek, and understanding finally floods through his veins.

Haru has been a part of his life for years. She's lingered in the air like a promise of heavy rain, that feeling he never consciously acknowledged but that urged him to take an umbrella anyway. She's slinked her way into his world, persistent and unyielding, until finally she is a necessary piece of the whole. Like the fence around his yard, she defines and protects him.

He melds his lips slowly to hers, breath and scents mingling. She parts her lips softly, a happy giggle escaping as she wraps her arms around his neck and stands on tiptoe to gain better access.

They do not exchange words, but instead seek to satisfy undisclosed desires.

Fin


End file.
